


your voice disappears on a bad connection (are you protecting me?)

by lonelier_version_of_you



Category: Holby City
Genre: Angst, Anyways, Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Depression, Henrik knows John has feelings for him but hasn't really figured out he has feelings for John, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, all the usual stuff for me, and is also incapable of accepting the idea that he is loveable :(, and with that comes, non-sexual nudity, yes it's ANOTHER bath fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22188442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelier_version_of_you/pseuds/lonelier_version_of_you
Summary: Today’s the evening of day four and Henrik really hopes he’ll be able to get through to John tonight.(Or, in which John is in the midst of a depressive episode and Henrik looks after him. Set in the Trinidad era.)
Relationships: John Gaskell/Henrik Hanssen
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	your voice disappears on a bad connection (are you protecting me?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prydon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prydon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [it's a bad day (you're my medicine)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21223199) by [lonelier_version_of_you](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelier_version_of_you/pseuds/lonelier_version_of_you). 



> For a while now I've thought I was gonna give up on writing, or at least writing Johnrik. I can't say this won't be my final (published) fic, still, but I found myself set on this idea and thinking I at least needed to get this written and published. So without further ado, here it is.
> 
> I know you guys have probably figured out by now that bath scenes are my weakness. In my defense, they've got the Intimacy and the Gentleness and the Water Motifs, all very good Johnrik things. Also it's Henrik bathing John rather than John bathing Henrik this time so it's totally different, shut up. 😆 This is listed as inspired by my last fic because I drew on the opening lines about John dealing with his mental illness lapses in the past by pretending to be sick.
> 
> Gifting this to prydon because I made a comment to her last month about how I should, as I put it, "step out of my comfort zone and write Henrik bathing John for once" and she told me to do it lol.
> 
> Title from Protection by Kent.

Henrik knows the routine far too well by now.

When John’s stressed, or simply burnt out, he’ll hide away in his bedroom for days on end. He’ll barely leave the bed, he’ll tell everyone he’s sick and then force a cough or pretend to blow his nose to seem more convincing, and sometimes Henrik will think he can hear the sound of John crying through the walls if it’s late enough.

It comes around every few months or so, and once it’s all over no one will question why John’s the only one who seems to catch these illnesses, why they inevitably come after periods of great stress or busyness, why John locks himself in his bedroom for some “illnesses” but when he’s obviously genuinely sick he doesn’t appear to mind interacting with everyone else…

Henrik isn’t actually sure how many of these things Roxanna and David notice, but he sees them and he _knows_ that the colds, the flus, all the things John claims to come down with are blatantly faked. He’s fairly certain John knows that he knows, too. It’s their unspoken secret – well, one of many.

The routine has started up again just recently. John’s hardly left his room for the past three days. He’s told everyone – or he told David, who then told Roxanna and Henrik – that he’s ill and he wants to be left alone.

Today’s the evening of day four and Henrik really hopes he’ll be able to get through to John tonight. He hasn’t really seen his friend for the last few days, but maybe this evening he’ll be able to get John to let him in. David and Roxanna are going on a night out, so it’s just the two of them – no worry about anyone else overhearing or seeing and destroying the unbreakable façade John’s done his best to build (that, for better or worse, Henrik helps him maintain).

Besides, Henrik doesn’t like this; perhaps it’s selfish, but he doesn’t like not having John around. Something about it feels terribly wrong.

So a few minutes after Roxanna and David leave, when Henrik’s sure they’ve gone, he makes his way to John’s bedroom. The door’s been locked, as Henrik expected, so he knocks on it gently and says “John? Please open the door. You know I worry about you when you do this.”

Henrik is about to think John’s not going to answer when he does. The door is pulled open by a quickly retracting arm, and Henrik enters to see John sat up in bed, wearing the same pyjamas as yesterday. He looks scarily… fragile. Frail, almost. Everything John’s not supposed to be. Most of all, he looks _exhausted_ , in the way that no amount of sleep could ever quite solve.

John coughs awkwardly. “Henrik?”

“John,” Henrik takes a couple of steps closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fuckin’ terrible. This fever won’t ease up, I swear.”

Henrik knows there’s no fever, but doesn’t say that. He plays along instead, for the sake of John’s pride. “Are you having enough to eat and drink? You know how important that is.”

“I ate a few hours ago. Just haven’t had much of an appetite.”

Henrik turns his gaze back to John and then nervously averts it again, unsure what to do or say.

John slumps against his pillows a moment later, groaning and muttering something (with the slightest slurring to it) about a ‘headache’ to cover up his obvious fatigue. Henrik wonders how much sleep John’s even been getting. He can’t imagine it’s anywhere close to the amount it should be. He hates the thought of John seeking solace in sleep, only to not get any of that either. (It’s a plight he’s intimately familiar with himself.)

 _It’s not really that John isn’t ill,_ Henrik supposes, _it’s just certainly not in the sense he keeps claiming to be._

“Would you like me to run you a bath?” he offers. “That does always make me feel better when I have a fever. And I’m sure you could do with one—” he stops himself there, realising how that sounds out loud.

John doesn’t answer. (Henrik hopes he hasn’t overstepped the line somehow or made John feel worse.) Eventually, a few minutes later, he sighs quietly and says “I guess I could. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

So Henrik leaves the room, though not before grabbing a clean pair of pyjamas from the drawer to leave out for John. He places them on the towel rack for John to grab easily when he’s done, and then turns the bathtub tap on.

He returns to the bedroom a few minutes later to let John know the bath is ready, and he thinks that’s going to be the last of it and he’s done his part to help. But then he hears a voice call his name and enters the bathroom to see John leaning against the wall, refusing to look at him or say anything further except an almost-whispered “I… um…”

It takes a few seconds for Henrik to realise just what John’s trying to silently ask for help with, but when he does, he doesn’t speak a word of it. It’s another thing he knows well: the way the most basic of things can seem like crushing weights, sometimes, and make it difficult to get much of anything done.

“Okay,” he mumbles, equally as softly and awkwardly, before raising his hands to John’s chest and slowly unbuttoning his thick flannel shirt. It’s a difficult task, not because of the action itself, but because he doesn’t know how to do it _right_ ; he doesn’t know where the balance is between sensual and clinical, but does know that leaning too far in one direction would make John uncomfortable – after all, this is a man who refuses even to go shirtless at the beach that Henrik’s dealing with here. This is a big deal to John, but making a big deal of _that_ would only make things worse. It’s a horribly delicate balance and Henrik never has been very good at delicate balances.

But somehow, he manages it, only to be presented with the realisation that he has to take John’s trousers off next. He assumes John wants that over with just as badly as Henrik himself does, so after tossing the pyjama shirt into a laundry basket, he lowers his hands to John’s hips and is about to make quick work of this step when he’s interrupted.

“Hang on,” John protests, “I don’t want you to see me…”

“I won’t look,” Henrik assures him.

John just makes a near-inaudible sound of agreement and lets Henrik, keeping his eyes closed, quickly finish undressing him.

“Should I stay?” Henrik questions when he’s done, carefully keeping his line of sight at the wall furthest from John.

John doesn’t downright decline – which, since this is John, probably means ‘yes’. Instead he simply says “But – but I’m…”

There are a few moments of uncomfortable silence afterwards before Henrik has an idea. He walks towards the wall he’s been nervously staring at, opens the bathroom cabinet mounted to it and pulls out a tube of bubble bath. He thinks it technically belongs to Roxanna, but what harm could this do? “Roxanna won’t notice if a small amount of this disappears, I’m sure,” he explains, holding it out. He feels John grab it from just outside his line of vision, hears the cap being unscrewed and, seconds later, the water running again briefly before it’s shut off.

“You can look now,” John’s voice alerts him. So Henrik does, turns in the direction of the bath to see John lying back in the water, a thin layer of foam across the top of it obscuring the view of anything below his chest.

Henrik could leave now, he knows he could. But something about John’s behaviour and tone of voice – not to mention that he isn’t actively and loudly rejecting this, which if he were at all opposed to it he would – practically screams ‘I need you, please don’t go’. It’s almost heartbreaking, because it’s so _not John_ , so _vulnerable_ in a way Henrik doesn’t think he’s really seen since the night with the lake a few years ago.

Besides, the way John seems to be getting more and more tired by the minute, Henrik’s not sure he’d trust him to not fall asleep and drown if left alone in this state.

“Okay – if we’re going to – I guess I should just—” Henrik stutters out. He rolls his sleeves up, then unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pulling them off – denim may be the fabric of nightmares, but wet denim is even worse – and then, now clad just in his shirt and boxer shorts, places the jeans on the towel rack next to the pyjamas he laid out.

(He doesn’t notice the way John blushes as all this is happening.)

He picks out a flannel, wets it with warm water from the sink, and kneels next to the bath. He starts to carefully scrub the days’ worth of grime and sweat from John’s face; he’s constantly staying alert for any rejection, but John says nothing, just waits and lets Henrik wash his face.

Henrik brings the flannel down after that, across John’s neck and then his shoulders, but once he’s done with that, he lays the cloth on the side of the tub. “Your turn,” he says quietly, knowing John wouldn’t want him going any further than this.

John nods and takes the flannel in his hands, swiftly dragging it underneath the water.

The room is silent for several minutes after that, until eventually John places the cloth back on the bathtub’s rim. He makes no further move after that, however; and that leads Henrik to ask “do you want me to wash your hair?”

John only bites his lip and doesn’t say a word. Henrik takes a plastic cup from the bathroom countertop and fills it with water before pouring it over John’s hair a few times. Then he stands up, takes a bottle of shampoo from the cabinet and kneels down by the bath again.

As Henrik cautiously rubs the shampoo into John’s hair, he thinks his friend is going to pull away and stop giving in to this any moment now. But instead, John actually seems to _savour_ the touch. Henrik can’t pretend it doesn’t surprise him.

Henrik’s halfway through rinsing John’s hair when suddenly John starts to tremble, breathing sharply like he’s about to start crying.

“John?” Henrik asks, “Are you alright? Did I get shampoo in your eyes? I didn’t mean to, sorry, I—”

John just shakes his head in response and continues to quiver and gasp: Henrik swears he sees actual tears forming in John’s eyes. (The result of pure exhaustion, he thinks. There’s no chance John would let himself fall to this level in front of anyone, even Henrik, otherwise. Unless he’s simply in _that_ much pain, which is an even worse thought.)

Henrik can’t help but find himself panicking. He has no idea what to do about this, doesn’t know the best way to comfort John. But he can’t bear to see his best friend suffering, so he simply does the only thing he can think to do – place his hand on John’s shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. “I know,” he whispers, “I know. It’s okay, I just have to finish washing your hair and then you can go back to bed.” What he really wants is to see John moving about again, getting exercise, but that step is clearly not happening tonight. They can work on it tomorrow.

John nods, so Henrik quickly finishes rinsing off his hair, then pulls out the bath plug. As soon as he does so, he hands John a towel to wrap up in, which John does, and then helps him out of the bath. He turns his back, dries his hands and pulls his jeans back on, while John dries off and gets dressed.

Those two tasks, however, seem to sap the last of John’s energy, as he almost collapses onto the ground afterwards.

Henrik tries to help him up, and succeeds, only for John to refuse to let go, burrowing himself into Henrik’s grasp.

 _Okay_ , Henrik thinks, _if this is how it has to be…_ Mustering all his strength, and trying to ignore his aching knees and not think about the backache he will almost certainly have after this, he lifts John up into his arms bridal-style. John seems more than content with that, practically melting into the embrace, and lets Henrik carry him back to his bedroom.

Henrik is about to lay John down on his bed when he hears a soft, slurred mumble. “Love you…”

It takes a second for Henrik to realise that, yes, he _did_ just hear that. He frowns and sighs quietly as he puts John down. “You’re exhausted,” he reminds his friend gently. “Go to sleep now, John.”

Henrik carefully drapes John’s blankets over him, lightly runs a hand through his hair, then turns out the light and leaves the room without another word.


End file.
